TOWZER DISCOVER'D: OR A New Ballade ON AN OLD DOG That Writes Strange-Lee.
To the Tune of Oh how unhappy a Lover am I.
HOW unhappy a Mastiffe am I,
to have all the Dogs of Renown,
Scratching their Tails and biting their Nails
for madness that I am in Town.
At Towzer they daily do bark,
A Towzer, a Towzer they cry;
Both the Commons and Peers would all shake my Ears,
I hardly know where to lie.
Poor Towzer they maul with Eggs,
And threaten him in every Street:
Let me die like a Dog if I know where to jogg:
For I fear even all that I meet.
I dare not walk out by day;
They set Dogs on the Observator:
If I walk in the Street, I fear all I meet,
But the Papists and my Creator.
The Papists will do me no harm,
My Creator will do me no good.
I'm a Son of a Bitch if I have not an Itch
To lick up the Protestant Blood.
That will make a Popish Cur fat,
And Towzer is such an one.
Oh the Times will be well, when my Belly doth swell,
With picking a Protestant Bone.
The Commons made Towzer run,
And hang out his Tongue for Breath;
But I crept in a Room with the Old Widdow B—m,
And so was I freed from Death.
But well may I prick up my Ears,
My Sorrows are now at an End;
The Tantivy Race will save my Dogs Face:
For they fancy that I am their Friend.
And now I'm a Whelp of Fame,
And may boldly Caper in Town:
For Towzer is hid (Oh God forbid)
And under a Reverend Gown.
Now Towzer may bark at the best,
And be a most impudent Cur▪
In a Loyal Disguise he broaches his Lies,
And makes a most damnable stir.
Holy Crape doth clap him o'th Back,
And in Towzer doth take Delight;
But he little doth dread, that in time of need
For the Papists Old Towzer will fight.
Silly Crape, now open thine Eye,
Like Lynceus look within▪
For surely thou'rt blind, if thou do'st not find
Popish Flesh in a Protestant Skin.
Now he doth bark for Crape;
But anon he will bite for Pope:
I'll be judg'd by you, if he had his due,
If he doth not merit a Rope.
He divides the King and his Flock,
The Shepherd from harmless Sheep;
And yet he pretends, that he's their best Friend;
Oh, who can forbear to weep?
But Heav'ns preserve our King
From such as do use Deceit▪
I wish they may swing like a Dog in a String,
And I hope I don't wish it too late.
Poor England shall then be at rest,
And the King shall most happily Reign:
Our Joy and our Peace shall never more cease
When ev'ry such Towzer is slain.
LONDON Printed for J. B. 1683.